


singing all your songs of praise

by northern



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Chains, Collars, M/M, Sadism, Will Graham in pain, stress positions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:24:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7459361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northern/pseuds/northern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's beautiful, the way Will knows he will likely hurt before long, but still he goes under Hannibal's hand, so determined to suffer for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	singing all your songs of praise

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a snippet with the prompt _Italy, parade, pail_ , but it grew enough that it deserved its own title and everything.
> 
> Thank you to Elizaria and damnslippyplanet for encouragement and beta!

It's a lovely June morning. Hannibal has always enjoyed these pleasant days before the true Italian summer heat sets in, and it brings him joy to be able to share them with Will. The villa outside of Firenze is large, with sturdy stone walls and a nicely sized garden. A gardener comes by twice a week to keep it lovely to look at.

The gardener won't be by today, though. Hannibal has made sure nothing will disturb them, and their closest neighbors are far away that they will be able to enjoy the summer air through the open door to the patio facing the garden. At least until things start getting really interesting.

Will is standing in the center of the room, eyeing the thick rings of metal bolted to the floor and ceiling.

"Did you… were these here, before you got this place?" he asks.

"I had them installed," Hannibal says, pleased to be asked. "They're quite secure. You can test their strength if you'd like."

Will pokes the floor one with his shoe, but doesn't kick it, which is just as well since it might hurt him even through his shoe. The ceiling ring is larger. The height of the room is slightly lower than what Hannibal would consider normal, but Will still won't be able to reach the ring without jumping. It's interesting that he doesn't — just looks at it, considering.

"Are you curious about the day's exercise?" Hannibal finally asks, somewhat impatient to get started. It's important that Will gets enough time to think about what's going to happen, though. It makes things easier in some ways, and harder in others.

"You're chaining me to these," Will states. "I'm not sure exactly how you're going to do it, but it's clearly going to take a while."

"It's somewhat of an endurance test. If you would get undressed, please? The temperature should be mild enough. You may keep your underwear, but no shoes or socks."

Will undresses and Hannibal slides the crate out from under the work table by the wall. He's fairly certain Will hasn't had the time to go through it, especially since he hasn't noticed the metal rings before. They've only been here for a month, and their activities of this nature have been confined to the bedroom so far. This, however, will work better here.

Will watches as he pulls the lengths of chain out, as well as the collar. It's an antique made of rough metal, but Hannibal has made sure the inside won't chafe or nick Will's throat. That's not what this is about.

"That's… quite a collar," Will remarks. "Was it made with a human in mind?"

"A Mastiff, perhaps," Hannibal says. Actually, he's not certain if this particular collar has been used on a dog or a man before. It hardly matters. "Your clothing on the chair by the door, please."

Will does as he says while Hannibal busies himself setting up. He could have done it all beforehand, but part of the enjoyment is watching Will discover what will happen. Will is uncharacteristically silent as he watches Hannibal fasten one length of chain from the ceiling, one from the floor and connect both of them to the collar. When all is ready Hannibal studies Will's face, in an attempt to judge whether this will go smoothly or not. Will looks pensive.

"Would you like to guess the game?" Hannibal offers.

Will steps forward, his toes curling a little against the cool stone floor. He looks at the height of the collar. "Am I kneeling?" he asks.

"No."

Will's eyebrows rise slightly. "Bent over, then. But there is nothing else to hold me — only the collar."

"Let me explain," Hannibal says and walks up behind Will, standing close enough that he can feel the nervous energy in his body, the minute tensions flowing through his back, through his legs. He takes the time to smooth his hands over Will's arms, his chest, stroking some of it away. The tension will return soon enough, but the way Will leans into him is gratifying.

"You are familiar with the position 'parade rest', I assume?" He is somewhat regretful to end the intimate contact between them, but it's time to continue toward a different intimacy.

"I was never in the military, but I've seen it, yes," Will says.

He broadens his stance without Hannibal having to prompt him, and brings his hands up between them, behind his back. Hannibal helps him, placing one palm into the other, thumbs interlocking.

"I have implements to keep your arms and hands in this position, but I would prefer it if you could hold them like this without them."

Will laughs breathlessly. "I assume we're about to escalate the difficulty of that."

"Now, I would like you to bend, and I will lock you into the collar." Hannibal places his hand on the back of Will's neck. Will exhales, and then bends down slowly. It's beautiful, the way Will knows he will likely hurt before long, but still he goes under Hannibal's hand, so determined to suffer for him.

Hannibal fastens the collar and locks it, adjusting the tension of the chains to keep it as still as possible, and by extension, Will. A large portion of Will's immobility will rely on Will himself, of course. He takes his time going through Will's body, making minor corrections to the distance between his feet and tugging his arms a fraction higher, to make a more pleasing angle of his elbows.

"I can see how this will be uncomfortable, yeah," Will says, his words coming faster than usual.

Hannibal smiles. "And we're not even done with the preparations."

He turns to bring the bucket he'd placed by the wall earlier. It's sturdy and made of metal, the bottom a broad ring, which will not cut. Bruise, perhaps, if left long enough with enough pressure.

He pats Will's back. "Now straighten out your back for me. Make me a flat surface."

Will's breath huffs out of him in nervous annoyance, or possibly exasperation, but he does as Hannibal asks — of course he does, Will is a good boy when he wants to be — and Hannibal places the bucket on his back, just above Will's hands. Will flinches a bit from the contact, his fingers twitching slightly, and then he stills again. Hannibal checks the balance of the bucket, adjusting it to make the risk of it wobbling less. Then he retreats and fetches the chair he's chosen for this. He places it close, for easy reach, and sits down to watch.

It doesn't take many minutes for the bucket to move a little, as Will tries to flex his legs. It's clearly in no risk of falling, but Hannibal still tsks. "Keep it steady for me, please," he reminds Will.

"What is it?" Will asks.

It may be an attempt to distract himself from the situation, but Hannibal doesn't mind. He has time. "A bucket I bought in town," he replies, quite truthfully. "How does it feel?"

"It was cold," Will answers. He fidgets again, but it's slightly enough that the bucket only sways with him. It's heavy enough that it won't be an issue for a little while yet. "It's not cold now. Just there." Will's breath is coming faster, from the effort of keeping his position.

The collar is almost hidden by his hair, and Hannibal reaches his hand out and brushes it away. Will makes a small noise at the contact, but keeps still while Hannibal feels around the edges of the metal, brushes the dampening skin with his fingers. He wedges three of his fingertips under it, at the back of Will's neck, and Will draws in a shaky breath. It's not tight enough to cut off Will's breathing, but the reminder that this is unyielding metal is satisfying, and he can feel the increased tension, the anticipation. Hannibal could easily make it a lot more difficult for Will to breathe like this.

He regretfully takes his hand away. Another time, not like this. Will pants, and a drop of sweat falls on the floor from his face. The breeze from outside doesn't quite reach into the room, but Hannibal suspects it wouldn't really make a difference for Will if it did. He stands up and moves to the door, watches the hilly landscape fall away to distant pastures and clumps of trees. He can just make out Firenze by the horizon. It's almost an hour's drive, but maybe they can go tomorrow morning. Get some things the nearby village doesn't offer.

Will moans — a bitten-off sound. The handle of the bucket clanks, the movement big enough for it to be disturbed. Hannibal returns to his chair. He leans forward to see Will's face, and brushes his hair back with one hand to better do it.

"How does it feel?" he asks.

Will takes several panting breaths. "Hurts," he says. "My legs. Shoulders."

Hannibal feels a small glow of satisfaction. "It does," he agrees, stroking Will's forehead. "Does it burn?"

"Yes!" Will doesn't turn his head to look him in the eyes, but that would be very painful for him, so Hannibal isn't surprised. Will fidgets again, trying to twist his hips without moving his back. The bucket tilts again, the handle clanking. "Please, it's hard! I won't be able to… it'll fall soon."

"Ahh," Hannibal says, the lightness of joy inside him. "Let me help you."

He crosses the room to the barrel in the corner, filled with water. He fills the large jug hanging by its handle on the edge with water, then returns, resting one hand on Will's head as he starts to pour into the bucket.

"What… no! No!" Will protests as the bucket becomes heavy with liquid weight. He whimpers as Hannibal repeats the process, fetching another measure of water, which fills the bucket maybe two thirds of the way up.

"Much more steady, wouldn't you say?" Hannibal says as he sits down on his chair again.

Will is trembling, taking harsh gulps of air as if he's close to crying. Hannibal runs his fingers through Will's hair, soothing him. "This way, you will carry it longer for me," he says softly, so proud of him. "You try so hard for me, and I will always help you, Will."

Will's chest heaves, and the noise he makes is like a low wail. The bucket sways, but stays secure on his back.

"If I really wanted to test you," Hannibal says, "it wouldn't be water on your back. It would be hot oil. Think of how it would heat the bottom of the bucket. Think of the mark it would make on your back, how hard it would be not to try to move away — even harder than right now, yes." Hannibal leans forward again, his mouth to Will's ear, as he slides his hand down to cup Will's cheek, slick with sweat. "Think of what would happen if you let the bucket tip over," he whispers.

A more violent trembling runs through Will, but still it doesn't threaten the burden on his back. His Will can take more than this before breaking and be glorious doing so. He will fight until he can't.

His only source of relief right now is his voice, and his wails are growing louder, so Hannibal gets up and closes the door to the garden. They will need the thick stone walls, now, for these precious minutes until Will can't anymore. Hannibal intends to enjoy them. He hurries back to the chair and carefully rests his head against Will's.

"A little more, for me," he murmurs. "A little longer."


End file.
